


Reconcile

by Kannika



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Family Bonding, Fix-It, Gen, post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kannika/pseuds/Kannika
Summary: A shirt shouldn't mean much.But to Conner and Clark, Conner's uniform is a problem that needs to be solved- in more ways than one.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	Reconcile

**Author's Note:**

> More post-season one Conner and Clark bonding! I have a lot of feelings about these two. I could have done without the way they portrayed Superman in Young Justice, but I have to admit it does present lots of writing opportunities.

Superman blinked at Conner as he came through the zeta tube. Everyone else looked a little worse for wear, as was to be expected from a normal mission, but he alone had his clothing in tatters. Most of his shirt was missing and there were holes in both pants at the knees. Clark half-expected he was going to walk out of one of his shoes. 

Conner met his eyes and scowled, jerking his head away, and started moving stiffly down the hall. Oddly enough, though, he didn’t move like he was hurt. It was just his clothing that was torn up, not him. 

The rest of them weren’t concerned at all, though, and that was a little weird. Did _they_ know he wasn’t hurt? He had hoped they would be a little more understanding. 

M’gann caught his eye and smiled. “Don’t worry. He has a hundred of those shirts.”

“Well… yeah, but, how did it happen?”

“Who knows?” Artemis waved her hand dismissively and stripped off her bow and quiver onto the table. “We left him alone for ten minutes and when we found him again he was missing most of his shirt. The knees were sliding on concrete to stop my fall. Which I did appreciate.”

“I don’t mind,” Zatanna said. She was grinning, too. They were _all_ grinning. What inside joke was he missing out on this time?

M’gann shot her a look. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.”

“If you want me not to look then get him a uniform that isn’t made of cotton.”

Clark could have slapped himself upside the head. Of _course._ He hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that Conner must have gotten his own ‘uniform’— back before he was involved in his life. It tore like cotton because it _was_ cotton. He must have just bought a bunch of shirts with his logo on it and some pairs of jeans and called it good. 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to getting a new uniform from you,” Bruce said behind him. 

Clark spun around and pointed at him. “You didn’t tell me he was literally wearing civilian clothes to fight in!”

“You wouldn’t have cared before now,” Bruce replied. Damn it, he was _annoying_ when he was right. “I can get my debrief from the rest of the team. Go before you lose your nerve.”

Clark resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him— it was a close thing— and flew down the hall after Conner. 

He was just coming out of his room, a new pair of jeans and an identical black t-shirt on already, but he froze when he saw Clark. “I’m not hurt,” he said warily, which meant Clark was moving too fast and had a worrying look on his face. He was really good at reading into those things already.

“I know.” Clark smiled and, after a moment, Conner relaxed too. “I was just wondering if I could steal you for a few hours?”

Conner blinked, cast a glance over his shoulder. “We have to debrief—"

“I already talked to Batman. He said it’s fine.” 

_That_ got him a suspicious look, but Conner sighed and nodded. “Where are we going?”

“Smallville,” Clark said on instinct. He hadn’t really thought about where they were going, but when he said it, it sounded like a solid start. His parents had made his uniform. Surely they could make one for Conner, too. “Come on. We’re going to work on getting you some shirts that don’t disintegrate in battle.”

He started walking away; after a few startled seconds, Conner ran to catch up with him and match his pace. “I don’t want a uniform like yours,” he said. 

“You’ve mentioned. That’s fine.”

A beat of silence. 

“The girls aren’t going to like it.” 

That time, Clark laughed.

\----------------------

“What do you think?” Clark asked.

Conner was silent, staring at himself in the mirror with his head cocked; Clark fought the urge to ask him again, to push him, because he was learning that Conner didn’t take well to being told what to do. He just wanted to know what he thought. 

Because for him, it… changed things for Conner to be in a shirt that his mom had sewed for him. It was a weird feeling; he couldn’t even explain to himself why it was any different from seeing Conner in a t-shirt he had bought at the store. It didn’t even look that different. It had longer sleeves than his other shirts, but that was it. It was still, for all intents and purposes, a t-shirt. 

But it felt like more. 

Conner brushed a hand down the sleeve absentmindedly. “You’re sure this isn’t going to tear like the other ones?” 

“I’m sure. That’s made from the same material as my cape— I’ve gone into volcanoes with it.” 

Conner’s eyebrows jumped. “Really?” 

“I’ll tell you the story later,” Clark promised. “But… what do you think of it?” 

Conner smiled slightly. “It looks like my other ones. But…” He put a hand on his chest and looked at himself in the mirror; his face, when he stared at the crest, was shifting between awestruck and nervous, which Clark didn’t understand. It was the same thing he had been wearing before. 

“What?” 

Conner swallowed. “You’re… you’re okay with me having this?” 

For a second Clark was lost— _why wouldn’t I,_ he almost said before he bit his tongue— but then he realized. They were still figuring things out, and there were a few key decisions that hadn’t been made. A few important names that they had never called each other that left them too far apart for this to be easy. 

But, Clark decided, he knew enough. For whatever Conner was or wasn’t, he was still the boy who tentatively helped feed the cows with his ma, who paid close attention to his pa when he was fixing the tractor and wanted to learn how to do it too, who helped people for no reason other than because it was right. 

“You know what it means, right?” He asked instead, to get Conner to give him his full attention.

“It’s your family crest,” Conner said. “Right?”

“Exactly. It means ‘hope’.”

Conner nodded, turning back to the mirror. “And… it’s yours.” 

“It’s my family’s,” Clark corrected, putting a hand on Conner’s shoulder and standing next to him so he could see what they looked like together. It was uncanny, sometimes, how alike he and Conner looked, even though he knew there was Luthor blood in him, too. They had the same eyes, the same build, even the same voice. 

And now they had the same crest. And this time, unlike when Clark had looked down at him as a stranger standing in the ruins of a disaster, he had given it to him. 

“That makes it yours, too,” Clark finished, pushing past the lump in his throat. “And you deserve to wear it and be proud of it, too.”

It had taken too long for them to get there, but the smile on Conner’s face made it all worth it.


End file.
